


All That I Was

by Sabishiioni



Series: Because of You [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Does not play a big part in this fic, M/M, Pining, Threesome - M/M/M, bit of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabishiioni/pseuds/Sabishiioni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos, Aramis and Porthos reflect on what brought them to this point in their lives. Continued from "All That I Am".</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I Was

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Musketeers  
> Warnings: Read them (Even the ones in bold, please)  
> Follow Me:[Tumblr](http://sabishiioni.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow PI: [Tumblr](http://projectinsanitywriting.tumblr.com/)  
> Song Rec: [Holding On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCUHClheiZk) by VnV Nation  
> Mindless Babble: Yes, this has become a trilogy. I wonder if that will make people happy?

“Nononono…” Aramis tore open d’Artagnan’s shirt, trying to get to the wound. He hissed at the amount of blood flowing from blackened hole in the man’s chest. He glanced up as d’Artagnan reached to touch Athos’ face, stopping the litany of pleas and threats that fell from the older man’s lips.

“It’s better this way…I’ll no longer be in the way…It was a stupid dream…to ever think I could be an equal…I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Aramis tried to slow the life pouring from his young friend, but the moment d’Artagnan went limp, his heart stopped and he could do nothing. He reached up with a shaking hand to press his fingers to the slender throat. He felt nothing, but cooling skin.

“No…” He felt the tears escape his eyes but couldn’t bring himself to care. This young life, this boy who managed to steal their hearts, was gone. Never would he watch with pride as the musketeer pauldron was strapped to his shoulder. Never again would the four of them ride together on a mission to keep King and country safe. Never would he get the chance to confess his feelings.

He felt Porthos behind him, pulling him away from the body of his friend, wrapping him in a hug from behind. He beheld Athos gently laying the boy on the grass, pausing to lay a gentle kiss on the other’s forehead. It was suddenly too much…

“NO! I will not accept this! He is not dead!” 

Aramis jerked away from Porthos, his fist slamming heavily on the lifeless chest. Athos was already moving to stop him when the body suddenly arched off the grass with a gasp. All three men fell back in shock.

Aramis was the first to recover, darting back to the once dead man’s side. Within minutes, he had the bleeding under control enough that they could move d’Artagnan to someplace safer. When he finally looked up, it was to see the two men he loved staring at him in awe and admiration. Despite the situation, he blushed and ordered them to help move the Gascon.

***  
Porthos sat on the bed, using a damp cloth to wipe the sweat from d’Artagnan’s feverish brow. The boys last words were still ringing in his ears and there was a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the fear and sorrow he had felt just hours before. He gently brushed back a stray lock of hair, as Aramis and Athos spoke in hushed voices.

“He’s been so withdrawn lately, but I thought that perhaps something had happened and he simply wasn’t ready to tell us.” Aramis stroked his mustache, a habit Porthos knew meant that the man was troubled but didn’t know what to do about it. “I wouldn’t have thought that he felt…”

“Like we abandoned him?” Athos watched Porthos, not relinquishing his grip on d’Artagnan’s hand. 

Aramis nodded, his eyes taking in the rise and fall of the injured man’s chest. Though still shallow, his breathing had evened out. Both the entry and exit wounds were now stitched closed and the powder burns from the muzzle blast were coated in a cooling salve.

“I don’t understand why, though.”

“Tha bottle o' wine.”

Athos and Aramis both regarded Porthos with some confusion. Dark skinned hands dipped the cloth in a bowl of cool water before wringing it out to gently lay it across his young friend’s forehead. Finally he raised his eyes to focus on his lovers.

“The wine on tha table that mornin’ after…tha funeral.” He flashed Aramis an apologetic look. “I told you I thought I heard somet’ing. I’m willin’ ta bet d’Artagnan stopped by with a gift fer Aramis ta cheer him up and saw tha three o’ us…”

Aramis paled in horror. “But…he never seemed disgusted or angry…did he?”

Porthos shook his head. “No. He seemed ta be sad, if anything.”

“Left out…” The despair that came with the realization of the extent of their unintentional cruelty was clearly written on Athos’ usually stoic face. “Never an equal.”

“But… I thought he was in love with Constance?” The confusion and hurt in Aramis’ voice cut into Porthos as deep as the words spoken by a dying man had.

“D’Artagnan is in possession of a heart so large, he could very well love a dozen people equally.”

Porthos nodded, agreeing with Athos, and returned his gaze back to the man in question. “In tha Court, I saw families made up o’ any combination of men an’ women. They all seemed ta be happy.”

“But with Constance married and perceiving us as belonging to each other,” Aramis bowed his head, tears once again filling his eyes. “God, he must have felt so alone!”

“Aramis…tell us the truth, will d’Artagnan live? Will we get the chance to make this up to him?”

“I don’t know. He lost so much blood; I mean he died!” The man sighed, closing his eyes. “I fear it depends on d’Artagnan. If he wants to live, he will fight.”

Porthos gazed at the unconscious man, his heart threatening to tear itself apart from grief. “Then we already lost him…”

Silence fell on the room with the weight of those words. Porthos took the cloth, intending to refresh it when he noticed how pale and gaunt d’Artagnan appeared to be. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen the boy eat. With a heavy heart, he realized he couldn’t because the younger man no longer felt welcome enough to join them for their meals. He no longer felt wanted by the three of them for even such a common thing.

“When did we get so wrapped up in each other that we stopped extending that love to him?” Aramis asked softly.

“We never stopped,” Porthos replied, just as soft, replacing the damp cloth on d’Artagnan’s brow. He then took the hand not being held by Athos and gently placed a soft kiss to each of the knuckles. “We jus’ forgot ta keep showin’ him.”

***  
“I know you saved my life that day.”

Athos sat on the bed, one leg dangling off the side while the other rested next to the too still body. His upper body leaned against the headboard, serving as a pillow for his unconscious friend. He knew that he shouldn’t have moved d’Artagnan, but he needed to hold the boy, feel the warmth of the living body. His hand rested on the barely moving chest, taking comfort in the beating of the heart under his fingers.

Four days ago, they nearly lost the young guardsman. Each day was a struggle, one that the young man was losing. Hope failed a little more every time the sky darkened. Still, d’Artagnan was never left alone-the three musketeers would never allow that to happen again.

“I saw you take that bullet for me. I think…” Athos swallowed harshly around the lump in his throat. “I think you were hoping that I wouldn’t…that you would…die alone…” He choked before continuing his softly spoken confession. “Alone, like you’ve existed for so long…too long…”

He glanced down at the young man he held in his arms. Seeing him like this, Athos could almost pretend that the Gascon was merely asleep, having imbibed far too much wine. Once upon a time, he would have given anything to hold d’Artagnan like this. Now, he would give anything just to have the boy awake, even if it meant never seeing him again. 

“I also know about the horses. You took the one that threw me into the river while giving me your gentle creature. I admit I didn’t notice until we were back at the garrison, but then you led the horses away before I could say anything. It was about that time that I realized you were withdrawing. I thought…hoped… you would come to me…” He sighed softly, ignoring the tear that fell. “I see now, when it is much too late, that I should have come to you.”

He bowed his head to place a gentle kiss on the dark hair. “I am so very sorry, d’Artagnan. Please…please do not leave me- do not leave us for a place we cannot follow.”

***  
Aramis watched his lover silently weep while cradling their youngest member through the partially open door. He couldn’t recall ever hearing Athos speak so many words at one time. His chest ached for the man causing him to send up a quiet prayer for both of the wounded hearts on the bed.

He heard Porthos come up behind him before the larger man wrapped his arms around the slender frame. “Athos isn’t takin’ this well, is he?”

Aramis leaned against the broad body, shaking his head. “No. I’m actually starting to worry that if we lose d’Artagnan, we will lose Athos as well.”

“He does love that boy…”

“I think he loved him from the minute he came storming into the garrison, demanding a duel.”

He felt the warm huff as Porthos gave a breath of laughter. “Wasn’t that when the kid stole all o’ our hearts?”

“And now he’s breaking them…”

Porthos tighten his arms, hugging Aramis. The smaller man almost smiled, knowing that the larger was trying to convey his support and love in the only way he knew how. He was certain that without Porthos, he would be doing no better than Athos. He turned to give the man a kiss of gratitude. 

“I can’t help but feel responsible. I look back and see all those times we didn’t extend a hand to him, yet he was always there for us.”

Porthos sighed, resting his head on Aramis’ shoulder. “Waitin’ in the background, silently hopin’ for one o’ us ta see him. Never leaving, even when we did.”

“You know, d’Artagnan was never an equal…”

The brawler’s lips twitched in a smirk. “He was always better.”

“Porthos! Aramis! Get In here! It’s d’Artagnan!”


End file.
